


The Seal Man of North Ronaldsay

by Nehszriah



Series: Fae and Fantasy Doctor Who AUs [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Faeries - Freeform, Fantasy, I play around with stuff so it's not very strict, Modern Fantasy, Prompt Fic, Selkie AU, Selkies, contains mentions of Danny/Pinkwald and using Orson as an OC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-05-30 01:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6403048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehszriah/pseuds/Nehszriah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Danny's death, Clara moves into a cottage in the Orkneys he had inherited from an old uncle. A year passes as she mourns and integrates into the community, until a man comes out of the sea stark-naked, with nothing except for a sealskin. [Whouffaldi selkie AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When she was bequeathed the small fishing boat and seaside cottage in her boyfriend’s will, it definitely came as a surprise. For a man with no family and little to speak of elsewise, he had a myriad of surprises that followed him and his memory, and the fact these things existed hadn’t been known to her before the after-effects of the hit-and-run. The cottage had been left to him via a favorite uncle who died before he went into the children’s home, and the boat he had bought himself hoping that he could use it while holidaying, yet now it all belonged to her.

What came as even more of a surprise to her loved ones was that she packed up and moved there. She knew it was running away—she wasn’t stupid—but she politely told the headmaster that she couldn’t teach at Coal Hill for a while due to the pain that came with passing by his old room every day. He understood, gave her a good reference in case she wanted to teach elsewhere, as well as a note to take her back if she came and he was not around, and then she was free. She packed up two suitcases worth of stuff, put the rest of her things in storage, and made the move to the cozy little cottage on North Ronaldsay, in the Orkneys.

She had been living up there for a bit over a year at that point, when the big storm happened. By now a respected and accepted member of the island, occasional teacher and sitter, she was alerted to the fact that something was wrong by the odd _VWORP-VWORP-VWORP_ sound coming from the shore. It was something she had never heard before then, so she threw on her coat and boots, grabbed a torch, and braved the elements to make sure everything was alright.

Using a ladder, she climbed over the dry retention wall from her property to the beach. She shined the torch around; there was a huddle of sheep over in one recess in the wall, her boat securely attached to its dock, and… a person coming out from the water. Unable to move, she gaped at the man, who came up to her stark-naked, with a wild look on his face and looking like he was clutching a soaked woolen jacket in his hand.

“Are… are you alright…?!” she asked over the roar of the storm.

“Kidneys!” he shouted back. She stared at him, baffled.

“Did you say _skerries_? Did your boat hit a skerrie? Were there others onboard?”

He glanced around with a confused look on his face. “We’re the only ones here!” A flash of lightning lit the sky and the sheep bleated in their makeshift shelter. “Except for you lot! Yeah, you! I see you! Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on you kelp-hoovers!”

“Let’s get you inside,” she said. He was obviously confused, and there didn’t seem to be anyone else around, so she took off her coat and draped it over his shoulders, leading him back over the wall and into her cottage.

Getting the man inside didn’t seem to make him any less twitchy. She wrapped a blanket around him and sat him down on the couch before putting the kettle on for some tea. Going to her bedroom, she dug into the box of old clothes she hadn’t yet found the heart to donate yet and pulled out a t-shirt and pajama bottoms—her boyfriend had been a bit broader in the shoulders and built stronger than the stranger, but it was going to have to do. She grabbed a towel on her way back, knowing it would help with at least his hair.

Except, to her surprise, when she returned to the sitting room, she found that the man’s hair was now completely dry and fluffy, sticking up in a mane of grey that matched his eyes. She approached him cautiously, looking at his exposed upper half that was incredibly pale and thin and bare.

“You’re not wet,” she noted. “I just found you flopping out of the sea—you should be soaked to the bone.”

“First off, I didn’t just _flop_ out of the sea,” he corrected. “Secondly, I don’t know why you brought me here. I was perfectly fine outside.”

“There’s a bad roost not too far offshore, so I highly doubt that,” she replied. The man cocked an eyebrow and she groaned in exasperation. “Roost… you know? Undercurrent? Obviously with that accent you’re not from here, but have you _have_ to know about the currents.”

“Of _course_ I know about the currents; I’ve lived here all my life,” he scoffed. He then blinked and glanced around the room, something in his head clicking. “This isn’t your house.”

“It’s my house,” she affirmed sourly. “Now why wouldn’t it be my house?”

“I was here before, years ago,” he said. “An old man lived here and we were mates. His nephew picked it up after he died, once he was old enough. Now what was his name…? His mam named him Rupert—sickly woman, real bonnie lass—but he went by some other name…”

“Danny; Danny Pink,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You knew Danny?”

“Not very well,” the man replied. “Saw him every now and then. How is he?”

“Dead.” She tossed the bundle of clothes into his lap and rushed back into the kitchen, where she switched off the boiling kettle and stared at the ceiling, biting her bottom lip. It had been so long, but it still hurt… hurt too much for a boyfriend. A steady boyfriend, yes, one that she wanted to marry and settle down with, but he had still been just a boyfriend. Shaking, she closed her eyes and counted backwards from ten, attempting to not cry.

“Are _you_ alright?” the man asked once she reached three. She spun around and saw him standing there, clothed and looking very concerned.

“I loved Danny,” she admitted. She then turned around and busied herself with putting together tea. “He and I worked together in London, which was how we met. We had been together almost three years when he was in a traffic accident and… and…”

“…and since there were no other Pinks to be had, this place passed on to you,” he said. “There was an anniversary two days ago, yeah? You went to the shore and cried.”

She stared at him, eyes large and welled with tears. “How did you…?”

“You cried and seven tears fell into the ocean, calling me,” he explained quietly. Stepping forward, he held out the jacket she had found him with. “This is my skin, and you can do with it as you please.”

“Your skin?” She took the jacket from his hand and marveled at the texture; it was slick and very much not like wool at all. “What is this?”

“Come now; the islanders haven’t told you about the legends, have they?” he wondered. “A woman cries seven tears, no more and no less, into the sea if she wishes to make contact with a selkie. One comes ashore in the next storm and enters her life to end the dissatisfaction she has found, giving the gift of his skin as a token of their bond.”

Confused, she looked down at the jacket in her hands. It still looked like black wool and red satin, but the feel of it was undeniable. She met his eyes and nodded cautiously. “My name is Clara Oswald. What shall I call you?”

“Ian, I guess. That’s common enough to where they won’t make a fuss.”

“Okay, Ian. Would you like some tea?”

“I would. Thank you, Clara.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am taking liberties with the concept of the selkie for storytelling purposes. In many tales, they are mainly about lady-selkies getting kidnapped by human men, and not much else. They are popular creatures in Scandinavian and Celtic tales, even moreso on islands, and are thought to be ways of explaining anything from a hereditary growth that made hands look like flippers to lost Inuit, Saami, and even Finnish people that wandered off their original course due to storms. Folklore sure is interesting!


	2. Chapter 2

The following morning, Clara woke up to the sound of birds outside on her sill. Rain dripped lazily from the eaves and some animal chittered nearby. A squirrel? Probably a squirrel. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, remembering the night before.

‘ _I have a seal-man on my sofa_ ,’ she thought, wrinkling her nose at the thought. Ian’s surprise appearance during last night’s storm was definitely a shock. His claims at being a selkie seemed nearly outrageous, if it weren’t for how she found him: a starkers wild man coming out of the sea completely dry despite the fact he should have been waterlogged through his skin. It was ridiculous, believing in such faerie stories, but one touch of the coat he was clutching and she knew sometimes things such as common sense had to be ignored.

Clara rolled out of bed and walked out into the hall, rubbing her eyes sleepily. She went to the bathroom and then made her way over towards the kitchen. There, she stopped as she saw Ian standing in front of the stove, lording over a fry-up.

“Sit down,” he more requested than anything. She sat at her chair and waited as her guest made their breakfast while wearing her dead boyfriend’s clothes. He shoved the eggs, bacon, and beans onto two plates and brought them to the table, sitting down across from her.

“So, um, how long do you plan on staying here?” she wondered.

“ _Thank you_ ,” he said.

“I’m sorry, what…?”

“Usually people say ‘ _thank you_ ’ after someone makes them breakfast, but things might have changed since the last time I was on land for an extended period of time.” He scowled, seeming leagues more abrasive than he was the night prior, shoving a pile of beans on his fork and stuffing them in his mouth. “It’s been a while.”

“Okay, well, thank you Ian for this lovely meal and not making it out of herring,” she frowned. Clara looked at her plate and pushed around her beans. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Hmm? Oh, how long I’m staying… well, usually these sorts of things are more of a semi-permanent fix, but considering how surprised you were to see me…”

“What do you mean by ‘ _semi-permanent_ ’?”

“Oh come on, you’re cleverer than that—you’re an English lass that’s been up here for a considerable amount of time, existing on her own without so much as a lick of prior experience. I’m sure you can figure that one out.”

“Give me a little bit of time and maybe I will, but as of now it’s been less than twelve hours since I’ve first heard the word ‘selkie’ and I’m not entirely sure I believe it.”

Ian took a drink of his water, grimaced, put some table salt in, and scoffed. “My kind exists alongside regular seals, but we can walk on land just as well as humans, to the point where you can’t tell a regular land-walker from a human. It’s no surprise that you’re still doubting.”

“It’s not that I’m _doubting_ at this point… I just don’t understand _why_ ,” Clara replied. “I was mourning the man I was going to marry, not asking for some sort of weird animal fetish.”

“Those little bastards on the shoreline, those are what you get when you ask the faeries for a fetish,” he replied, pointing at her with his fork before continuing to eat. The little…? Oh, yes the sheep. “All I know is that I was summoned by _your tears_ , so don’t go backing out on me now.”

“How do you know it was me though?”

“…because you were the one who came,” he answered plainly. “You didn’t catch me and hold my skin captive… you cried, and it drew me here, to my old mate Orson’s, and now my skin’s on a coat peg and you refuse to admit that you believe in faerie stories.”

“Why should I? Believing in happy endings came to a very abrupt halt a bit over a year ago.”

“Maybe you should look at a book of tales every now and then; it’s not all happy endings and sunshine.” Ian put down his fork and stood up, walking out the kitchen door into the back garden, passing the hook where his skin sat. Clara looked over her shoulder at him, wondering what in the heck was going on. She followed him, only to find him sitting on a rock, looking out at the ocean.

“I really am stuck with you, aren’t I?” she asked. She then caught herself and blurted out, “I mean: you’re going to be staying with me for some time yet, is that right?”

“…for at least a while, yeah,” he replied quietly. One of the squirrels that infested the garden chittered its way up to him, sniffing his bare foot carefully before scurrying back up the nearest tree. “Feck—I hate to say it, but the Council was right.”

Clara gingerly placed her hand on his shoulder, attempting to show some form of support. “Right about what?”

“That I’m just a fool land-walker,” he muttered. “I’d come to land sometimes, just to see what it was like. I did that for a long time, in and out, in and out, so much so that for a while, I nearly believed that I could _be_ one of you if I tried hard enough.” He swallowed hard, remembering. “It took so long for my Summons that I was almost convinced that I was never going to be called, that I was on land for so long that I missed my shot, and now that I’m here it’s for a woman who can’t even see what’s in front of her.”

“Hey, what I know is I see _you_ ,” Clara said. She sat down on the other side of the rock, facing the house. “I’m still having a difficult time trying to grasp the whole faerie thing, but what I do know is that you’re sitting here with me. If we have anything, there’s that.”

“The fae are dying,” Ian stated plainly. Clara turned and stared at him, only able to see the side of his grim face. “Man’s reliance on technology has never been an issue before the past hundred years or so. We still had our believers, even as smokestacks went up and forests went down, but Man has changed so much that they’ve forgotten about us. We die when we’re forgotten.”

“Everyone dies when they’re forgotten—that’s how life works.”

“For the individual, yes, but forgetting the fae is like forgetting to breathe. How can Man summon Fae if they don’t even believe in them anymore?”

“Man still believes, if it’s mainly the little kids that do,” Clara said. “I thought I stopped believing in faerie stories when I was eight… though I guess I never really did.”

“If you are anything, Clara Oswald, at least you are honest,” Ian noted. He saw she was staring at him, so he tapped the side of his head with a long, spindly finger. “I’m a slight telepath—actually, more like a poor telepath. It’s how most Fae are able to trick Man so easily.”

“…but you, for some reason, are not tricking me.”

“That’s because you now own my skin. I couldn’t trick you even if I tried.” He rested his elbows on his knees and hunched over, pensive. “My telepathy is more based on reading your emotions, though I’ve always been terrible at it.”

“How so?” she wondered.

“Humans say one thing yet mean another way too often; I’ve known faeries who are easier to comprehend than you people,” he scoffed. “Your words thanked me for breakfast earlier, but you were still upset, still angered.”

“…only because you were avoiding my question,” she said. “Faerie politeness is different from human politeness. Being a land-walker, I thought you would have known that.”

“It’s not right.”

“Just because something isn’t right doesn’t mean we can’t figure out how to deal with it in our own way,” she said. Clara looked him over and made a decision, one she was hoping she wouldn’t regret. “So, are you going to wander around in a dead man’s clothes or are you going to come with me to Kirkwall?”

Ian glanced at her out the side of his eyes, confused. “Kirkwall? Why are we going to the mainland?”

“Danny’s old things don’t fit you very well, and I’ve got to get a couple extra bits and bobs now that you’re here,” she explained as she stood. She gave his back a hefty pat and grinned at him, making his eyes boggle in confusion. “Now, are we going to find you an old pair of shoes and get going, or are we going to sit here and mope?”

Brushing his consciousness against hers, Ian couldn’t tell what exactly was going on. He trusted her though—she was the one that summoned him, after all—the one who now owned the cottage next to the sea and the peg his coat hung on—and for that reason alone he put his hand in her outstretched one and allowed her to give him a boost up. It was time to go to the Mainland.


	3. Chapter 3

Once upon a time, Clara remembered as she and Ian rode the ferry to the Mainland, she was confused by life up in the Orkneys. The Mainland wasn’t Scotland, but the largest island, and many showed a distinct local pride that put the Islands before all other identities. There was a certain resistance, not necessarily to change or ferry loupers or anything concrete like that. Instead it was something she couldn’t put her finger on, the sort of feeling that she got when on a class trip to Roman ruins, something that was older and ran deeper than anyone alive could know. Something told her that Ian knew, deep down in his soul, but heaven forbid she try to wrench it out of him.

Ian, the selkie; he was a curious man, that was for sure. She attributed that to him being a faerie, that is if faeries really did exist (an idea she was humoring more and more as of late), and quietly observed him out on the deck of the ferry. With the salty wind in his hair and the sea spray jumping up to meet where he stood by the bow, he seemed to be pining for the water below. Sure he had insisted that she take ownership of that odd-jacket-looking “skin” of his, but part of her wished she had it so she could drape it around his shoulders and tell him he was free.

Once in Kirkwall, Clara went straight to work. She took Ian to get some clothes, coming out of a resale shop with him dressed in what amounted to pajama bottoms and boots, with multiple layers on his upper body. There were a couple other things that she got for him—shirts and jackets and trousers and things—at his annoyance, before heading into the rest of town for a bite to eat.

“Why am I an old friend?” Ian asked as they ate their lunch on a café patio, away from other patrons. Their shopping was sitting next to them, another part of why they wanted to not be around anyone else. “We met last night.”

“Listen: these islands are a tight-knit community, not to the point where everyone knows everyone else, but you’re definitely no more than two or three removed from someone,” Clara explained between bites. “I stick out because I’m English, and the English girl who moved up here alone can’t just suddenly be walking around with another stranger that _no one_ has yet to meet without any sort of story behind it.” She finished chewing what was in her mouth and swallowed. “That’s why you’re an old friend who came up in his own boat, but it was wrecked in last night’s storm… though why you had to add ‘ _school mate_ ’ I have no idea.”

“It was what Orson called me,” he defended while idly chewing on a chip. “Ian Smith, out of Glasgow—sat exams with him or something like that.”

“That was all well and fine for Orson, but it’d only work for us if you had been a returning student.”

“What’s that?” He cocked his head and furrowed his brow in thought, looking more owl than seal.

“A ‘ _returning student_ ’ is someone who is older, sometimes with teenage or adult kids they can leave home alone, who attend classes to get into a second career.”

“…but we look the same age. People who go to school together look the same age.”

“Not necessarily these days,” she said. Clara sipped her coffee and stared at the man in front of her. “You think you’re some expert land-walker, but you’re really a goofy idiot.”

“Even the best of us have our downfalls,” he shrugged. “You never believed in the Fair Folk until last night.”

“Jury’s still out—come on and eat up, or we’ll be too late to catch the next ferry.”

They _did_ catch the ferry she wanted to, though just barely, while clutching the shopping from both the resale shop and the grocer’s. It was a calm enough ride back to North Ronaldsay, though when they got back to the cottage, things began to devolve quickly.

“What do you have to snack on in here?” Ian wondered, rummaging through the cupboards. “Orson used to keep a nice stash of sweets that he’d always hide on me.”

“I don’t keep that many sweets around, but I’ll keep that in mind for when I order more groceries,” Clara deadpanned. She turned to put the bag of crisps away just long enough for her visitor to make his way into the fridge and begin spooning cottage cheese right out of the tub. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?!”

“This is the good stuff,” he said, pointing a finger at the tub in his hand. “Can’t get this sort of thing in the seas. I do miss yogurt when I’ve got flippers.”

“Check the packaging, you nit; that’s not yogurt. Could have been, but it got sent to a different factory.”

Ian glanced at the tub and shrugged. “Well, would you look at that.” Continuing eating, he walked away from the fridge, kicking it shut, leaving Clara to stare at him in disbelief. Her trance was only broken by her computer emitting a ringing noise—much of the reason why she wanted to be home the precise time when she did. She went over to the desktop shoved in a corner nook and clicked on Skype. A window popped up and a familiar face filled the screen.

“Heya Rigsy—how’s it going?” she grinned.

“Well enough,” the young man replied. “Jen sends her love—late night.”

“That woman is a _saint_ for dealing with the amount of crap she does at work. Her regional manager ever get the sack?”

Clara knew that if there was anything good about living amongst the outer fringes of civilization, it was that she could pick and choose who she talked to and when. She hadn’t said a word to her stepmum since moving, her and her gran were on great terms, and she was able to whittle down her friendships from the multitude of polite acquaintances and grit-teethed suffering to the ones she genuinely cared about. Christopher Riggins was one such friendship, Danny having kept in-touch with the former student of theirs to the point they had been his daughter’s godparents. The young man had admired the two teachers and how much they’d cared for their students, making weekly Skype calls mandatory when Lucy’s remaining godparent moved well over seven hundred miles away.

After a couple quick pleasantries, Rigsy left the room to go fetch his daughter, who up until that point had been napping. Clara smiled as she stretched her arms over her head, glad for this bit of normalcy in her life.

“What are you looking at?” Ian asked as he popped back into view. Clara nearly fell over in her chair, having forgotten he was still in the house.

“I’m talking with a friend still in London—Danny wasn’t around long enough to teach you about Skype, was he?”

“Skype…?” Ian’s eyebrows quirked as he dropped his spoon in the cottage cheese and scratched his head. “Is that a new IRC thing-a-ma-jig?”

‘ _Oh good—the seal-man knows about the internet_ ,’ she cursed internally. It was then that Rigsy sat back down, a sleepy toddler in his arms.

“Lucy, say hi to Aunt Clara,” he said, turning the girl towards the camera. Once she saw Clara, Lucy’s eyes lit up and she instantly tried grabbing her through the computer screen.

“Cwawa!” she cheered. “Ahn Cwawa!”

“There’s my little angel,” Clara giggled. She watched happily as Lucy squirmed and half-babbled until Ian put down his cottage cheese and edged himself closer to the screen, showing up in the camera frame.

“What sort of technology _is this_ …?” he marveled. “I love it; and it comes with a tiny human on the other end! Whose brilliant tiny human is that?!”

“Um… Clara…?” Rigsy was staring at the computer screen, wondering who the heavy-lidded man was that was making faces for his daughter.

“Rigsy, this is Ian, an old friend of Danny’s uncle,” she sighed. “Ian, this is Rigsy. Danny and I were his secondary teachers in London when we were just starting out.”

“…and you’re all the way in London?” Ian asked.

“Bristol, actually, but…”

“Wow, I sure have missed plenty of things while I was away.” He picked the tub back up and walked away. “Great tiny human—gonna be a brilliant one someday.”

A pause.

“Clara…? Do you need to tell me something?” Rigsy asked. He leaned in closer to the microphone and whispered “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I just… I’ll email you, yeah? Nothing to worry about.”

“Are we sure? I’m doing a pretty shit job of watching out for you like I promised I would, but this…?”

“I’m not in any danger, just…” She trailed off, watching Ian out of the corner of her eye. He was in the kitchen, arguing with the spider that lived just outside the window. “It’s a bit difficult to explain. I’ll email you tonight, definitely. We still on for next month?”

“You kidding? We can barely wait. Say bye to Aunt Clara, sweetie.”

“Bye Ahn Cwawa! Wuv you!”

“Love you too, sweetie. Bye!” Once the call ended, she turned the chair to face Ian and glared him down. “Okay, ground rules, _now_.”

Ian looked at her, puzzled. “What?”

“If you’re going to live here, you’re going to respect the fact that I have a life of my own,” Clara demanded. “I don’t care if you’re the freaky land-walking-wereseal you say you are, you are going to act like a decent human being, and treat me as such!”

“I… uh…”

“Lessons start tomorrow at nine in the morning, sharp!” she said. “I am having visitors over in one month, and I need to convince them that you’re _not_ some crazy man that flopped onto the beach outside my house.”

“…and for the last time, I didn’t _flop_ …”

“Semantics.” She folded her arms and eyed him carefully—this was going to be a challenge worthy of her teaching talents.


	4. Chapter 4

The following day, Clara got straight to work on constructing a plan to turn Ian into the best-integrated landwalker in the history of selkie-kind, with the end-goal of the day before Rigsy came up with his family to visit. It was a complicated plan and if they worked hard at it, they’d be able to get things at least off the ground within a week. By the time it was lunch she had planned up an appetite, though when she entered the kitchen she found her unexpected houseguest frying up some cheese sandwiches for them both.

“Wow, had I known that you’d be like this, I would have gotten you that cute apron we saw at the shop,” she smirked, glancing around him to watch his handiwork.

“You saw an _apron_?” he wondered. “Why would you get me one of those when you’ve got one hanging on the peg over there already?”

“It was _cute_ and it had little owls all over it,” she replied.

“Owls?! But I’m a _seal_ , Clara.”

“Tell that to those massive caterpillars you’ve got above those eyes and then get back to me on that,” she laughed. Ian touched his eyebrows momentarily as she walked away and got them both some water to drink, his face growing red when he realized what she’d meant.

“You’re one to talk,” he scowled. Ian finished up the sandwiches and placed them on plates, which he carried over to the kitchen table. “Your face is so wide it looks like the moon.”

“We all have our vices,” she quipped. “Thanks for cooking.”

“You’re welcome.”

They then ate their lunch in silence, not much to be said between the two. It was peaceful and quiet, with the only sounds being birds in the trees and the ever-constant breeze, for a short while, that is. Lunch was nearly over when the kitchen door slammed open, a young boy being the culprit.

“Miss Oswald! Time for lessons!” he exclaimed. The boy stared at the adults, not precisely knowing how to handle the situation.

“Lorens, what did I tell you about knocking?” Clara scolded gently, attempting to mask her mortification. The boy shrank behind the door, not wanting to come all the way in the house.

“I’m sorry, Miss Oswald—I didn’t know you had a visitor.”

“No, it’s my fault: I didn’t remember it was Lessons Day,” she replied. After shoving the remaining two bites of sandwich in her mouth, she decided to bite the bullet and get it over with, completely making the plan she had concocted null and void with the too-early introduction to another North Ronaldsay inhabitant. “Lorens, this is my friend Ian and he’s going to be staying with me for a while. If you see him, know that it’s okay. He’s not a stranger.”

“Hello Mister… um…?”

“Morlo,” Ian finished. “My name is Ian Morlo and I’m here on an extended holiday, but Miss Oswald said nothing about lessons…”

“Miss Oswald tutors me!” Lorens said cheerily. He sat down at the table, kicking his legs in the air. “We’re off school, but I still have to come once a week to go over stuff so my brain doesn’t turn into mush!”

“Keeping the local children from gaining brains of pudding? How noble,” Ian snarked.

“I’m also a substitute teacher when one of the regulars falls ill; we have lessons over the computer,” she added. “Lorens, can you please wait in the sitting room? I need to let Ian know what he can do while we’re busy.”

“Okay! Nice to meet you, Mr. Morlo.” With that, Lorens slid from the chair and disappeared into the next room, which allowed Clara to lean forward and glare at Ian.

“What was that?!” she hissed. “I thought you said Danny’s uncle called you Smith!”

“I wanted a change; it adds to the atmosphere,” he defended.

“What atmosphere?!”

“It’s Welsh—I can’t have everyone mistaking me for an owl, and now that I know you’re a teacher, it means I have to be extra-careful, now don’t I?”

“Why do you do this?!” she snapped. “It’s not like it’s possible for people to _remember you_ from last time you were on land, or is that what you’re counting on?!”

“You are very angry for something so small,” he noted.

Clara huffed and stormed out of the room, headed back towards her bedroom. The lesson plan she’d had set aside the night before Ian’s arrival was in there, scattered about with a bunch of other things that she had rummaged up over the past couple of days—the print-outs and literature about selkie-kind and what could possibly be involved with her fae pain-in-the-arse. She eventually found it all and began piecing it together atop her bed.

“Now I just have to make sure I figure out how to make Lorens not say anything without sounding like I’m hiding anything,” she muttered to herself. He was an incredibly bright boy for seven, and although he was shy, it was very likely that the first thing out of his mouth when he went back home was how there was a strange man in her house. North Ronaldsay was her _home_ now and the last thing she needed was to be the subject of a scandal.

With the lesson plan put right, Clara went back out into the sitting room to find something she didn’t expect: Ian and Lorens sitting together on the couch, the latter entranced by the former.

“You mean, there is _really_ evidence of faeries all around?!” Lorens marveled.

“The Fair Folk are everywhere, especially in places like Orkney, but only make themselves known to those who need them most.”

“I thought faeries appeared before clever people!”

“In my studies, not always.” Ian then noticed Clara standing there and grinned widely. “Ah, there you are—I was just telling the lad about my field of study. He seems really interested in folklore and things like fae and legends.”

“You didn’t tell me Mr. Morlo is actually Dr. Morlo and teaches uni!” Lorens squeaked excitedly. “That’s so cool! Do you have any of the papers he wrote?! I want to read them!”

“I think I can get you some, if you are a good student and do as Miss Oswald says,” Ian said. “Maybe, if you prove clever enough, I might even let you have a gander at what I came up here to work on, when it’s fully-drafted.”

Lorens’s eyes went wide in admiration. If it were possible, Clara was sure he’d turn into a puddle.

“Alright now, enough of that for the time being,” she said. She sat down on the floor in front of the coffee table and spread out the day’s lesson. “If I recall correctly, _someone_ has a local history exam on Norse rule when he gets back to school next week.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right,” Lorens frowned. He slid from his spot on the couch to the rug and they started the lesson for the day, with Ian interjecting the Fair Folk’s point of view every so often to make the boy giggle. A couple hours passed in this manner, until Lorens’s mother came to pick him up. The woman came in through the kitchen door, jumping in surprise at the sight of a stranger in the familiar sitting room.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped, taking a step backwards. “I didn’t know you had a visitor.”

“It was last-minute, and don’t worry; he’s here for a while, so Lorens isn’t any trouble,” Clara said. She quickly stood and ushered her neighbor into the kitchen in an attempt to downplay the situation. “Ian’s an old acquaintance from uni and wanted to know if he could stay here a while as he works on a paper. He’s harmless, really.”

“Working on a paper?” the woman wondered. She raised an eyebrow as she poked her head around the corner, taking in the sight of the man sitting with her son. “Are you sure that’s not the _only_ thing he’s working on?”

“…and what do you mean by that?” Clara deadpanned.

“I mean: Danny was a good man, but I don’t blame you if you need some private time alone with that.”

“We have a _professional_ acquaintance.”

“Uh-huh, and now I know the rumors about you suddenly showing up on the ferry with a stranger are true—when and how did he come in and why do you want to hide him? If my man was like that I’d show him off every chance I got.”

“Charlotte, you wouldn’t want to show off a man like him. Besides, what would your husband say?”

“Lorens would love it.”

“…but _Little Lorens_ would be rather confused as to why his mum and dad suddenly have a pretty man in their house.”

“Ha—you admitted it,” Charlotte smirked. Clara glared at her and she rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay, not a word to anyone else unless they bring it up, and if so then the official word is that your intentions are honorable.”

“So says the stack of sheets and blankets in the corner of the sitting room where he is staying until I can get the guest room back in decent shape.”

“I thought you needed the guest room for your old student and his family next month?” A grin appeared on Charlotte’s face, making Clara’s go red.

“Lorens? Your mum’s ready to go now!” she said, raising her voice so the lad could hear. It made Charlotte only grow cheekier and silently make a rude gesture on her way out the door.

Soon mother and son were far from sight, leaving Clara alone with her problems to deal with. She went back into the sitting room to find Ian cleaning up the lesson plans with a smile on his face.

“What are you so happy about?” she asked bitingly.

“Just glad there’s still at least one pup on the island that’s still in love with the old ways,” he replied. He held out the papers for her to take. “Do you usually tutor any other children?”

“Only Lorens for now—his cousin comes along during the summer when she’s here.” She took the papers and narrowed her eyes, staring at him critically. “You seemed to be rather talkative while he was here, let alone _creative_. A professor of mythology? You’re joking; what happens when you can’t even produce a degree, let alone an academic paper?”

“That’s my problem, not yours,” he said. Ian moved slightly closer and put a hand on Clara’s shoulder, leaning in to press a kiss against her forehead, which made both of them blush. “Sorry—I just—erm—was that the wrong thing to do?”

“The kiss or creating a backstory without telling me first?”

“Yes…?”

Clara sighed and simply walked away; she needed more time to come up with an alternative plan to integrate him into society and quickly.


	5. Chapter 5

Ian woke up as he always did: _frustrated_. It had been well over a week since he came to stay at Clara Oswald’s, a cottage which used to belong to a former mate, and then the mate’s nephew. With the nephew having no bairn to pass the place on to, it fell in the lass’s hands upon his untimely passing. He did mourn both Orson and Danny, as much as he did like, but the fact it was _Clara_ that summoned him… well… he could think of other things that were a better use of time.

Yes, she was comely as far as humans went, not to mention the fact he’d been waiting for a Summons for longer than he could recall, but Ian couldn’t help feel as if he had been tricked somehow, as if the summons was meant for another selkie, or that she didn’t need one at all. It all felt like a cruel joke at times, the fact he was now supposedly tied to this tiny, bossy, frankly _impossible_ **_English_** woman. He folded his sheets and blanket and put them and his pillow in the designated corner of the sitting room before shuffling his way over into the kitchen to get some breakfast.

Cereal—that would do the trick; he poured out a bowl and drowned the sugary bits in milk, staring out the window as he ate. He could see the sea from there and it sent a pang through his heart. The sea was freedom, where he belonged, not whatever this mess was. Good as captive and not even the sweet release of sharing his human’s bed… it was a nightmare fit for one of the Old Sisters’ tales, from back in the times when selkie women who dared walk land alone were at risk for capture and enslavement. Even as few as a hundred years before, it was common enough for a selkie maid to vanish at a moment’s notice, only to return after finding her skin and abandoning the children she was forced to bear her captor. These days a selkie woman made herself known to a man of her choosing, but it was still the man’s lot to respond to the summons of a human, to be a comfort when and where they had none.

Think of her and she shall come—Clara padded into the kitchen, flicking on the coffee pot and going through her own morning ritual. She patted him on the arm and a jolt went through his system reminding him that she was definitely the human he was Bonded with. Had he been a young pup with no self-control he’d be lifting her up and pressing her into the wall, rutting her with the sole purpose of giving her pleasure, but he was on in years instead and knew that sometimes the Council liked to play tricks on those who had waited around for a Summons as long as he had. Cruel, cruel tricks that he had no hope of satiating… that was the aim of the Council and All-Fae Court alike.

“So what’s the plan for the day?” he wondered aloud. She glanced over at him, sleep still heavy in her eyes, and shrugged.

“I’ve got to go into town and have a talk with the school headmaster, as well as see if I’ve got any post, but I should be back by lunch,” she muttered. “Are you ready to continue lessons afterwards?”

“Probably.”

Lessons… _always_ with the lessons. Ian could do without her “lessons” in how to be more human-like, but every time he told her he was perfectly fine the conversation quickly rolled into another lesson. It was growing tiresome, though it was useless to resist. He drank the remaining milk from the bowl and placed it in the sink before turning towards Clara.

“I’m going to take a walk while you do that,” he decided. Ian left the kitchen before she could respond, needing to get away before he went wild. He wasn’t a mindless animal, but a fae in flesh-form, and he was not about to stoop down to that level. If Clara didn’t want him, then there was no use in tricking himself into wanting her. He threw on some clothes from the ones in a formerly unused cupboard tucked away in the back of the cottage and walked outside to get fresh air in his lungs.

Wandering without a clear goal in-mind, Ian eventually found himself sitting along the rocky shoreline, barely above the high tide mark. Salty wind blew through his hair and made him feel at ease—somewhere out there, in the brine and depths, was the rest of his kind, and even just the wind helped with that connection. The council was a bunch of bastards, yeah, great and pompous and without a lick of human blood in them, yet the rest were the ones he wished to commune with. That was the problem with the Island Fae in comparison to their Continental counterparts: they were haughty and put too much stock in outstaying the mortals’ realm by hiding with exception of the odd Summons. The day they placed restrictions on the lesser sisters and brothers was the day that Ian swam far, far away and never looked back.

Ian was so completely lost in thought that he didn’t realize a small flock of sheep had wandered their way towards him until one began chewing idly on his hair. He shoved the creature off and scowled at it, failing to elicit any sort of reaction.

“What do _you_ want, kelp-breath?” he scoffed. The sheep bleated softly at him, which only made him roll his eyes. “Aye, I know it’s right there—I’m not _lost_.” He stood and began to walk away, though the sheep only followed him no matter how far down the beach he went. Eventually he climbed back over the sea wall and left them behind.

Not recognizing where he was, Ian cautiously looked around. He appeared to be in a small glen, the trees that were normally scarce on the islands sheltered by a high bit of wall combined with a low patch of land. There were some shrubs there as well, along with a small pool of water bubbling up from the ground. Birds sang in the trees and everything seemed rather idyllic.

“Innes, I know this is your work,” he frowned, placing his hands on his waist. The glen melted away into an ordinary patch of grass, populated by him and a woman. She giggled as the vision melted away, revealing a woman in a purple skirt and coat.

“Fancy you should remember me after all these years,” she said. “It’s been a long time—”

“ _Don’t_ say my name,” he interrupted. “You, of all creatures, have the least right to address me by my name.”

“Oh… _I see_ how it is,” Innes grinned. She sauntered towards Ian and poked his nose playfully. “Guess my contact was telling the truth—you _did_ receive a Summons. It’s from a human _female_ , I hope.”

“I’m staying with a friend, I’ll have you know,” he lied. Clara… there was more there than the possibility of friendship, but as long as they were going the path they were, “roommates” would actually be the closest thing. “Now what sorry spirit did you ensnare that led you all the way out here?”

“I have my ways, darling,” she replied cheekily. “I missed my favorite seal-boy, and now I’ve got you where I want you.” Innes grabbed hold of Ian’s elbow, only to let go quickly and jump back with a yelp. “Feck—what sort of magic is this?!”

“Don’t test me,” he warned. “I will find the nearest banshee to put you in your place, and you know it.”

The woman peered at him, attempting to piece things together. When she did, her face lit up. “You don’t have possession of your skin.” His ears tinged red and she screeched in laughter. “A selkie not in possession of his skin! Oh, I can make such _use_ out of you! Now… where did you hide it?”

“Don’t think it’s simple as that,” he said. “I don’t just leave it in any old place—you can search this entire craggy speck of rock and not find it, not in a million years.”

“A scavenger hunt; you _are_ feeling the fae in your blood,” she chuckled. “If that’s the case, then I have to get going. See you around.”

“Oh, and Innes? You looked better in green,” Ian added. A shudder crept over him as she snapped her fingers and vanished, as though she had never existed.

With that Ian shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and began to walk back to the cottage. It was difficult to not run, but he knew that he was not the best runner on land and doing so would only attract Innes’s attention, or the attention of any spies she might have on the island. He made it back to the sanctity of the small stone house to find Clara sitting at the kitchen table, going through her mail.

“Good, you’re back,” she said. “I was wondering what to put together for lunch, but now…” She trailed off as she saw Ian reach for his skin and approach her. He went down on his knees before her, shoving the coat in her hands.

“I need you to hide this somewhere in the house, _now_ ,” he said, gazing into her eyes. “An old associate of mine knows I’m here, and she’ll do _anything_ to get her hands on this.”

“…why?”

“Something that few selkies have done is allowed someone else to put on their coat,” he explained quietly. “When that happens, they are permanently bound to them. This woman is a fae as well, and if she gets hold of my skin, I’m as good as done for.”

“Then give me a mo’,” she nodded. Clara gave Ian a quick kiss on the forehead for reassurance and dashed off into the remainder of the house and out of sight. As she went through the house, he propped himself up with the kitchen table, resisting the swelling of primal, mortal urges that swept through him. He was better by the time she returned, looking very pleased with herself.

“It’s safe, then?” he asked.

“Of course,” she replied. “I don’t know what in the hell we’re supposed to do with one another, but I’m not letting someone else take you away from me before we figure that out.”

“Thank you.” Ian took Clara’s hand in his and gently kissed it; the action both quelled his nerves and made them worse at the same time. “Tiny, bossy, and overprotective—I must have lucked out.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” she said. As she looked up at him, her large, brown eyes full of so many contradictory emotions, Ian could almost claim that for the first time, he saw desire in them. Desire to keep him was much better than desire to be rid of him, and he was willing to take what he could get.


	6. Chapter 6

Clara wasn’t sure what had gotten into Ian. The seal-man had been twitchy for the past couple days, taking peeks out the window and staying carefully out of sight. Ever since he had come home from a walk and made her hide his skin he’d been like that, not to mention overprotective and defensive, wary of everything that was going on. Lorens had even noticed he was acting strangely and the boy had only met him once.

Something was going on.

It was such a weird thing that it kept her up some nights, wondering what it was that was going on. One night, after much tossing and turning, she went downstairs to check on him. He was frowning in his sleep, mouth open as he murmured things unintelligible to her ears. His brows were furrowed and face beaky—it really did take away from the whole seal thing…

…until finally he uttered something she wholly understood.

“…Clara…”

Her eyes went wide as she stared at him. “What’s the matter, Ian?” she whispered.

“…no… don’t…”

“Don’t what?”

“…Innes…”

“Innes…?” She sat there on her haunches, wondering what was going on. “Who is Innes?” He only whimpered in reply, falling back into a deep enough sleep to be completely silent.

Clara went back to her room and curled up under the blankets, listening to the wind outside. She wasn’t entirely sure what to think of him muttering her name in his sleep, though considering there were very few people he had come into contact with and bothered learning their names… it was a short list.

Slowly, she finally found sleep, though just as if felt that she had gone and closed her eyes and relaxed, she was woken by a presence in her bedroom.

“Clara…” It was Ian’s voice. She rolled over and opened her eyes, finding that their noses were nearly touching. Clamoring backwards, she saw that he was crouched down to be at eye-level with her, seemingly confused at her reaction.

“What is bloody wrong with you?!” she snapped. “I was _sleeping_!”

“…but you called me,” he defended. She raised an eyebrow and he rolled his eyes, going down to his knees and resting his arms on the mattress. “In your sleep—you called me. It was as plain as the nose on your face.”

Clara stared at Ian, wondering what she possibly could have wanted him for in her sleep. She couldn’t recall dreaming, so that was out of the question, meaning that she was going to have to trust him. “Could you tell why I was calling you?”

“Not a clue,” he replied. “At first I thought it might have been because the fertile part of your cycle started in the middle of the night, therefore flooding you with too many hormones to consciously fight, but considering you’re not the sort of woman who goes by simply what her body wants…”

“ ** _What_**...?! How do you figure that I’m **_fertile_**?!”

“I can smell it.” He tapped the side of his nose and shrugged noncommittally. “I have heightened senses; it’s part of my fae heritage. You may look at me and see a human, but I’m much more advanced than a vast majority of mortals.”

“If you’re so much more advanced, then why can’t you just get up off my couch and _leave_?” she hissed.

“I told you: a Summoned selkie can’t leave until the mortal who called him is satisfied—”

“—which usually means sex, yes, I get it, but we’re not doing that. We barely know each other.”

“We’ve been living in the same house for over two weeks; this is getting ridiculous.”

“Okay, fine, I’m satisfied. Can you go now?”

“You don’t mean that,” he said. Ian stood and held out his hand, offering a boost up. Clara took it and he stayed a respectful distance from her as he followed her down the stairs and into the kitchen. “You’ve said it over and over, but you really don’t mean it deep down. You think you do, but you’re not entirely sure yet.”

“What, can you smell that too?” she snarked.

“No—I can just sense it.” He grabbed the cereal box and poured himself some. “My senses have been tuned to _you_ , after all.”

“Aren’t I special?” she half-scoffed as she put together coffee. She sat down at the kitchen table and waited for her morning pick-me-up, watching Ian lean against the counter with his breakfast. He was fully dressed—excessively dressed considering the fact he was wearing a jumper _and_ a hoodie—and there was something about him that seemed different. It wasn’t a bad sort of different, but it was enough to notice. “Where’d you get that jumper?”

“I was rummaging around and found it; probably was Orson’s. Why do you ask?”

“Nothing; just, there’s a bunch of holes in it. Probably got attacked by moths.”

“I like it this way,” he defended. Ian drank the remaining milk from the bowl and placed it in the dishwasher. “What’s on the agenda for today, Boss?”

“Some cleaning, I think,” she said. “Rigsy’s family is coming over before you realize it, and things are going to have to be close to spotless.”

“Are they those people who need to have everything pristine?”

“No; it’s just that their daughter is still in the stage where she puts everything in her mouth that’ll fit in it. We discovered last time they were up that she likes bugs—beetles are her favorite.”

“I prefer Lennon’s solo work myself,” he quipped. Clara had to hold back a laugh at that, cursing his infectious grin.

“That’s a joke my dad would make,” she giggled.

“Better your dad than your granddad, eh?”

“Don’t push it.”

They shared a bit of a smirk and carried on with their morning, Ian getting coffee for both of them. Once Clara was awake, she got dressed and the two of them went to work. It took most of the morning, but they were able to get a decent portion of the lower level done. They then went upstairs, with Ian blinking in surprise at the sight of the guest room.

“I didn’t know you had a spare bed,” he said, glancing around the room. “Why haven’t I been sleeping here instead of on the couch?”

“…because this place is _filthy_ , for one,” she replied, pulling back the drapes and opening the window. With the extra light, Ian could now see the dust that was floating about in the air. “For two: this is where Rigsy, Jen, and Lucy are staying, so I can’t just give you this room, only to kick you out a short while after. That’s not fair.”

“What do you have in the other rooms?” he wondered as they stripped the bed. “I haven’t looked.”

“Bits and bobs, mostly; if I save enough, I can probably do something constructive instead of leaving them packed with boxes. Maybe let them out to tourists, offering to be a guide who sounds a bit more familiar than the locals, or to any seasonal help the crofters might have from the Mainland… I’m not sure.”

“I think you can be a bit more than a landlady, or the lass that points to things and recites rote facts.” He used his long reach to dust atop the wardrobe and some high shelves. “Ever think about looking into a permanent job with the school?”

“I have, and there’s not many openings. They have me on a waitlist though, and the money I get as a tutor and substitute is enough to get by…”

“You need to do more than ‘get by’, is the problem,” he finished. “What will you do if the house needs a big repair?”

“I’ll manage,” she said firmly. “Why are you asking?”

“I’ve noticed you don’t do very much, and not just because of me,” he shrugged. “It makes me wonder what might happen if I leave, is all. I would think I’m allowed to care about you, even if we don’t get on.”

“Is that your duty or something?” she chuckled.

“Yeah, actually.” His voice was resolute, as though it was an obvious thing. “I have a duty of care—why do you think I’ve stuck around all this time?”

“Obviously not because the only other option are the sheep.”

“You’re right, it’s not. Besides, I’d rather go back to the sea without my skin than hang around those kelp-brains.”

Clara laughed at that, unable to help herself. “A farmer, you’re not… clearly.”

“Hence why I’m up here to work on an academic paper.” Ian frowned as Clara continued to laugh, greatly upsetting him. “I’m not joking.”

“No, I’m sorry,” she apologized. “It’s just, we’re going to have to find out an imaginary university to be employed and accredited by, or someone’s going to figure things out very quickly.”

“Wait here,” he said. He then walked out of the room, ducking into the staircase that led up to the attic. After a long while, he came back to the guest bedroom, where Clara was just finishing balling up the laundry and tossing it into the hallway. He passed her a folder, which contained a series of educational certificates and everything needed to fake a person, all in his name. “I spent a lot of time as a land-walker in the 80s, when it was easier to conjure a false identity, and I had Orson hang onto this stuff for me. Looks like you and Danny never so much as touched that box.”

“Sorting Danny and his uncle’s old things hasn’t exactly been of high priority,” she said while she looked through the folder contents. “So you really do have a doctorate…”

“I’ll start working on the paper after your guests are gone, to pull my own weight,” he assured her. Ian then scanned the room, one brow quirking. “Are you going to put sheets back on the bed now or wait until the day before they come?”

“The day before,” Clara said. She then put the folder down on the dresser and pointed towards the door. “Now go get the broom and dust pan so that we can have lunch once the sweeping is done.” He did as commanded, leaving her to stare at the mysterious folder that seemed to have magically appeared in the house without any prior notion to it having existed.

It was suspicious, that was certainly the truth, and Clara knew she was going to have to get to the bottom of it once and for all. Ian came back with the broom and they continued cleaning—it was going to have to wait until later.


	7. Chapter 7

Late that night, Clara was sitting up on her computer, trying to find information about “Ian Smith Morlo” in online academic journals. A couple dead-ends came up, naturally, but once she was able to zero in on him, she found some leads… even a couple pictures. That was Ian in them alright, slightly less grey and lined in the face, though not enough for them to have been taken thirty years prior. He was an elusive academic, it was said, though a brilliant one, and there certainly was evidence to suggest he was still on the University of Glasgow’s payroll. There was a woman in some of the photos of him, with cunning eyes and razor-sharp cheekbones, clinging onto an arm as if she belonged there (despite his body language saying otherwise). She wondered if _this_ was that Innes person he was muttering in his sleep about, or if she was someone else entirely.

Well, there was only one way to find out.

Clara took her computer and went down the stairs to wake Ian up, only to find that he wasn’t in the sitting room. Actually, his sheets and blankets weren’t even laid out, still plopped on the couch in a tidy pile. Checking the hidey-hole she shoved his skin into at his request showed that it was still there, meaning he couldn’t have gone far.

After setting her laptop down on the table, Clara peeked out the window to see if he was in the garden. Sure enough he was, standing on the low stone wall and speaking in a language she’d never heard. He ended and green light shimmered softly all around the garden, covering the house in a dome before dissipating. Ian turned around and hopped off the wall, only for his eyes to grow wide at the sight of Clara.

“What was that?” she asked, noting how on-guard he was. He gently ushered her inside and closed the door.

“Normally my kind can’t do much as far as magic, but I’ve picked up a bit along the way,” he explained. “You know how I had you hide my skin?”

She nodded.

“That was a magical barrier, to keep Unseelies out of the house. I can feel their energy growing—hiding my skin from me isn’t going to be enough soon.”

“Does it have anything to do with Innes?” she added. He stared at her, eyebrows raising slowly in shock. Clara pointed at her laptop sitting on the table and watched as he sat down. “You were talking in your sleep and mentioned both of us. Who is she?”

“An old associate, from way back,” he said. “She’s a water spirit and she’s been after my skin for a long time. Innes gains her power from tricking and ensnaring others, meaning that I have to be careful about who comes in and out of this place—”

“You mean no one can get in now?!”

“No, no, humans can, and I can, but no other magic creatures can pass over the garden wall—Innes is _dangerous_ , and I don’t want her to trick you into letting her inside.”

“I think I can take care of myself, thank you,” Clara frowned, closing the laptop. She picked it up and started up the stairs, making sure to stomp to show her irritation. When she was halfway up, Ian grabbed her hand, making her turn around. “ _What_?”

“Innes has tricked mighty men and women and fae alike—this isn’t about you, but protecting you.”

“It’s not about protecting your precious skin, so that I don’t screw up and hand it over to a psychopath?”

“No; once Innes figures out that my skin is _here_ , she will go through great lengths to break you, torture you, shatter your soul into a million pieces, just for fun, and will have forgotten all about her original goal in the end.” He gazed up at her, entire face pleading. “I didn’t do it because I don’t trust you—I did it because I don’t trust _her_. You are actually very clever.”

“…and how would you figure that?”

“I see how you are with Lorens, how you’ve been preparing for the visit from your friends’ tiny human, how you’ve handled everything that’s happened since I arrived—I’d much rather do what I can to help you, and right now the barrier is one such way.” Ian watched as she slowly took her hand away from his, ready to be admonished by her, yet was surprised when Clara placed her hand on his cheek, just barely enough to touch it.

“You really think I’m clever because of that?”

“Most people these days would have called the police by now, yet you choose to believe in faerie stories… how can I not think that’s a sign?” He was breathing deeply now, his insides churning in desire that was becoming difficult to quell. “Let me care about you, please.”

Clara stared at him, contemplating. “You’re in pain, yeah?” He nodded, closing his eyes and furrowing his brow, before turning his head to hesitantly kiss her palm. It was an awful sight, one that made her shove away any irritation at him for the time being. “Would it help if we slept together? I mean, in the same bed… I don’t know if I’m ready for anything else.”

“It would help, please.”

With that, Clara took Ian’s hand again and led him up the stairs to her room. Having never been in it before, the selkie took a quick look around as his human got into bed. It was a cozy room, small, smelled like her, and filled with all sorts of things that he found silly and odd. He slid in next to her, facing away in case his mind shut off and his body decided to violate her trust. A pair of arms slipped around him and he felt her press her chest against his back.

“Bed’s too small; we should sleep like this,” she reasoned. It _was_ true that her mattress was a single-sleeper, but he couldn’t help but snarking back.

“Your bed’s too small yet you have three mirrors by the vanity? I know your face is wide, but I didn’t think it was _that_ wide.”

“Don’t press your luck; I can still kick you out.”

“Yes, Boss.”

* * *

Morning came, and with it Clara found herself alone in bed. She sat up and scanned her room, only to find Ian sleeping on the floor. He was curled up around himself, using a cast-off cushion as a pillow and one of her spare winter afghans as his blanket. She laid back down and stretched her arm out, tapping him on the shoulder.

“Hey, wake up.”

He rolled over and glanced up at her.

“Hey.”

“What do you think you’re doing down there?”

“The stimulus of being so close was almost too much, but I didn’t want you to think I abandoned you,” he admitted, tips of his ears going red. He then sat up, stretching his arms out languidly. “You’re also talking to someone who is used to sleeping on rocks; the rug is actually really nice.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” she said, skritching his head before getting up herself.

The two went downstairs and had their breakfast before splitting to start the day. Ian went into the shower while Clara went to check her email. She put the kettle on when she heard the shower turn off, needing a bit more of a pick-me-up than her usual coffee offered her. It was only after the tea was ready did she realize she needed more sugar and grumbled as she grabbed the stepstool to reach where it got put away the other day. She strained to reach it, not wanting to break down and get the slightly-taller chair to stand on. The container was nearly within her grasp when she felt Ian’s body press up against her and watched his hand effortlessly grab the sugar.

“You should have asked me,” he said, bringing it down for her. He placed it on the counter, though the concept of stepping back and leaving space between them seemed like a foreign concept. Even with the extra height of the stool, Clara was still a couple inches shorter than him, and it was—dare he think it—rather adorable. It surprised Ian when she reached up and touched his face, ends of her fingertips barely grazing his wet hair.

“Thank you,” she smiled. Clara then went up on her toes and pressed their lips together. His lips immediately parted, allowing her access if she wished. She pulled back and he attempted to follow her, yet as he realized what he was doing, he uttered a low apology and left.

Clara frowned and hopped down off the stepstool, going and finishing up the tea for not only her, but for Ian as well. She carried the steaming mugs (milk and sugar for her, a whole mound of sugar for him) into the sitting room to find him sitting on the couch, face in his hands and elbows jammed in his lap. Setting down the mugs on the table, she carefully placed a hand on his bare back, letting him know she was there. He didn’t flinch, which she took as a good sign.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” she assured him. “You’re going to be fine.”

“No, I’m not…”

“Yes, you are.” Clara draped a blanket around him before giving him a hug, making sure that while she was comforting him, it wasn’t filled with skin-to-skin contact. “If it’s any consolation to you, you’re pretty much the most interesting man I’ve ever dated.”

“We aren’t _dating_ —the Council is _forcing us_ to live together.”

“It started rather forced, yeah, but I’m definitely beginning to see the benefits,” she said. She leaned forward and picked up the mug she brought for him, holding it in front of him. “Come on; I made you a nice cuppa.”

Ian took his hands down and saw the offering, accepting it wordlessly. After getting about half the mug’s contents in him, he put it back on the table and rested his chin in his hands. “There has to be something we can do to fight this.”

“You have to want it though,” she reasoned. “I didn’t think fae were the kind to think on instinct.”

“…you didn’t…?”

“Okay, I’ve been reading up.” She gave him a gentle smile and kissed his cheek. “Get something on the top half—I want to take a walk.”

“Where?”

“Nowhere in particular.” She then sashayed out of the room, heading up the stairs so that she could change herself. By the time she returned, he was fully dressed in the red velvet coat she had gotten him as a joke, except it looked absolutely stunning on him.

Ian silently held out his arm and Clara took it at the elbow. They went out the door together, taking a slow, ambling stroll, deciding tea was going to have to wait.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going through this story while working on new material (!) and discovered that I hadn't crossposted this chapter yet. Not entirely sure as to why, but here it is anyhow.

With their arms linked, Ian and Clara went strolling along the island, taking in the sights around them that was North Ronaldsay. There wasn’t much to the island that either of them hadn’t seen yet, but that didn’t make it any less beautiful. They could’ve been walking through a chemical wasteland and still find it beautiful, simply because they were there with one another.

“This is nice,” Clara hummed, resting her head on Ian’s arm as they walked. “We should take walks more often.”

“You think so?” Ian wondered. He glanced around, noticing nothing out of the ordinary. “It’s the same things that have been living on the island for centuries. The seasons change, but the island doesn’t.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” she chuckled. “The island is constantly changing, even if it’s blades of grass and the number of bluebells growing in the garden.” She glanced up at him, seeing that his expression was one of intrigue. “My guess is that the Fair Folk see things differently than humans do.”

“Most likely,” he nodded solemnly. Though he had lost track of his true age long, long ago, he couldn’t deny that the mayfly clutching his arm contently seemed to have a better perspective on the minute changes around them than he did. Change to him was the technology and lack of belief in the Fair Folk, not where a flower moved to over the course of winter. He needed someone like Clara around to be able to note and appreciate the subtlety around him. Gazing down upon her face, he saw as she admired the blossoms they were passing and his heart skipped a beat; the Council sure did a number on him this time.

The island being as small as it was, it took barely no time at all for the couple to run into some of the other people there. Thankfully, it was a group of children, Lorens amongst them.

“Oh, hello Miss Oswald! Mr. Morlo!” he shouted, waving his hand wildly. He and his playmates all wandered over towards them, the other kids amazed at the man’s presence. “See? I told you guys he was real.”

“Wow! Are you really staying at Miss Oswald’s?!”

“My mum said she’s taking care of it for Mr. Pink! Does he know?”

“Yeah! Does Mr. Pink know?”

“Mr. Pink gave me his cottage, because he can’t take care of it anymore,” Clara said, leaning down so that she could be closer to eye-level with the children. Ian could sense the sadness in her heart for telling such a half-lie, likely started by the other adults in the children’s lives, so he crouched down and butted into the conversation.

“Now I barely knew Mr. Pink, but I did meet him a couple of times, and I can guarantee you that I wouldn’t have moved into his old place if he had an objection to it.”

“Wait, you’ve met Mr. Pink?”

“Aye—the Mr. Pink that you know, and his late uncle who was another Mr. Pink,” Ian explained. “I make my living my researching faerie stories and writing papers so that stuffy old professors in snooty public schools can make sense of them.”

“…but why do you do that…?”

“Well, _someone_ has to make sure they understand, or else they’ll forget the fae exist!” he said.

“Why’s it so important that the stuffy old professors know the fae exist?”

“…because the fae being forgotten is like forgetting what a tree looks like,” said another voice, cutting off Ian. He glanced up and saw it was Innes, standing there as though she belonged on the island. Ian stood back at his full height; one false move and it wouldn’t be only him in danger, nor just him and Clara. “Isn’t that right? I hear you are an expert.”

“Who are you?” Lorens wondered.

“A tourist,” Innes lied. She took a couple steps forward, which caused Ian to match her, putting himself between her and the children, as well as Clara. “You’re the bloke who gave all those lectures at Glasgow on mythology in the 80s, yeah?”

“I’m surprised you’d remember after so long,” he scowled.

“Oh, I never forget a pretty face,” she smirked.

Clara immediately picked up on the tension and began to herd the children away. “Come on, kids! How about you go back to your game? It looked like you were in the middle of a good football match…” Innes watched them, giving Ian an impish grin when they were out of earshot.

“She’s cute,” she noticed. “So she’s the one who summoned you, eh?”

“Leave her out of it.”

“Now you know I can’t do that,” Innes said. “She decided to mix herself up with our kind, meaning she’s far from being off-limits. Now what are you planning on doing about that?” She poked him in the chest and chuckled. “How about it? I know who you’re with now—there’s little stopping me from flattening her like the wee ant she is.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Ian snarled. He spun on his heel and stomped over towards Clara and the children, muttering under his breath as he did, electrifying the air around him. His hair began to stand on-end as magic surged from his being. Clara caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye and turned to speak to him, only to be met with him bending down into a kiss.

Freezing up, Clara was caught off-guard by the sudden, and rather _public_ , display of affection. She relaxed after a moment, letting both Ian’s magic and the children’s sounds of disgust envelop her. He tasted like brine and something… vast. It was the taste of the sea itself. Letting herself get caught in the moment, she kissed him back, feeling herself increasingly drawn to him, growing light-headed as they continued.

Ian then broke the kiss long enough to murmur in her ear, “We’ve got to get to Hollandstoun.”

“Why…?”

“There’s a barrier around the perimeter of the town set up centuries ago that protects the inhabitants from beings like her—the spell I put on you will last until then.”

“…but what about…?”

“The house is too far; come on,” he urged. Ian made a face at the children, which caused them to run away in shrieking giggles, and nearly pulled Clara along as he headed towards the island’s largest grouping of buildings. The moment they crossed over the town’s boundaries, Clara could feel something dissipate around her and the selkie’s grip relax.

“Now what?” she asked. “Innes is going to just wait for us, isn’t she?”

“Yeah—I guess we stay in town until she leaves; Innes has never been known as patient,” he said. Ian held out his elbow and Clara, feeling much more relaxed, took it.

* * *

It was an interesting day out in town, Clara decided, as she and Ian wandered about, waiting for the water spirit to give up on them for the time being. While it wasn’t fully tourist season yet, there were still plenty of places open where she was able to take him. By the time they were sitting in the town pub eating their dinner, Clara had a feeling that all the local eyes were on the both of them.

“I feel so exposed,” she muttered, poking at her pie. “Everyone’s looking at us.”

“There could be worse things,” Ian shrugged. “After a while, people stopped asking who I was. That has to be a good thing, right?”

“Wrong—it means that word travels fast in this little community,” she frowned. “At least you were able to convince people you aren’t the same man who would visit Orson.” Taking a bite of pie, she chewed on it thoughtfully. “Why did you visit Orson? He didn’t Summon you, did he?”

“No—few selkies ever get Summoned by a man, and most that do seem to enter friend-sort of relationships rather than sexual ones,” he explained. He then glanced over the table at her, nearly withdrawing. “The kiss this morning was alright, wasn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“It didn’t feel… contrived, did it?”

“You already told me that was how you placed the protective barrier on me that lasted until the Hollandstoun one kicked in—it’s fine.” She tried to look him in the eyes, not able to make contact. “Are you alright? Ian, I’ve been introducing you to everyone as my boyfriend… it’s fine. I think my boyfriend is allowed to kiss me out of the blue, whether it’s an attempt to save me or not.”

“…but Clara, I’m not—!” Ian was cut off by the waitress coming over to them, setting down two cupcakes.

“Here you go,” she grinned. “Don’t worry about the bill; the two of you continue looking cute and it won’t be a problem.”

“Oh, but come on…” Clara started.

“No,” the waitress insisted. She turned to Ian and gave him a smile. “Keep her happy, will you? She needs it.”

“I’ll do my best,” he replied. He watched as the waitress walked away, only to have Clara kick him in the shin. “Ow! What?!”

“Eyes over here, mister,” she teased, pointing at her face. Ian paused for a moment before bursting into laughter—a sound that was like magic to her ears. Clara reached across the table and took his hand. He stopped and entwined his fingers with hers, knowing it was not only making her heart melt, but his as well (not to mention the hearts of all those at the bar).

Staying until it was late, the couple played it safe as possible when it came to waiting out their pursuer. With no feeling of danger at all, they ambled along, with little in the air other than the sound of the sea and crickets chirping idly. Clara turned and glanced at Ian over her shoulder, a curious expression on her face.

“Why does Innes want your skin?” she asked. “I know what you said about being permanently bonded, but what would that do for her?”

“It’d link me to her until my life force runs out,” he said. A couple large strides and he was besides her, putting an arm around her shoulder. He saw the moonlight illuminating her face, the similarities uncanny. “Servitude is not how Fae naturally exist. If we serve, it’s because of a difference in power, or enslavement, or a bet was lost and that is what the payment is. A fae not in charge of their life is not a happy fae.”

“…is what we’re doing like that?”

“No… I’ve wanted a Summons, but it’s been so long for the right person to come around that I’ve become restless and rough… I want to be with you, Clara.”

“Good; I don’t care if it’s about waiting for the right Summons, but don’t make me feel like I’m letting something happen that neither of us want,” she stated. “At least for mortals like me, life’s too short to bother with things like that.”

Ian kissed the top of her head and exhaled happily. Yes, this was going to be his true Summons for sure. He would stay with Clara as long as she needed him, and then he would return to his people and have the ability to stand up to the High Council and their esoteric ways. With the magical knowledge he had gained over the years, he would be able to help his brethren in ways that the current order refused to even acknowledge.

Suddenly, the sound of a horse neighing cut through the air. Ian looked behind them and saw that it wasn’t livestock escaped from a barn, but a creature that was standing next to Innes a short ways away from them. The being was a nuckelavee: a grotesque fusion of horse and rider. Holding a lamp in its elongated hand, the rider was attached to the horse’s back at the waist, the two permanently bonded. Its muscles and sinew were raw and exposed, pumping blood all throughout the skinless body with no thought of decency. He heard Clara gasp and his eyes flicked down to her for only a moment, catching her wide, brown eyes grow even wider at the scene.

“Thought I’d give up, did you?” Innes giggled. “How about I introduce you to one of the lads you’re going to be working with?”

“You can’t handle the nuckelavee!” Ian shouted. “It won’t listen to you!” The fae woman merely gave him a cat-like grin.

“Try me.”

“Clara! Run!” he screamed. He took her by the hand and they began to sprint towards the cottage, hoping that they would make it in time.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the chapter I was working on that made me realize I hadn't posted the previous one. Yikes!

Sometimes when one’s very survival is on the line, time seems to slow down. It’s considered a side-effect of the adrenaline coursing through one’s veins—the fight-or-flight instinct—and it helps mortal beings manage their fear to turn it into a useful tool. With precisely the right amount of adrenaline, a human body can run faster, leap higher, and dodge quicker than should be possible. They are the closest thing one can become to a time traveler as their senses hone into supernatural levels. It is what has helped humanity itself survive the ages to become what it is today.

Ian and Clara ran for their lives hand-in-hand, adrenaline doing a seemingly poor job at helping time slow down enough to outrun Innes’s servant. The nuckelavee chased them relentlessly, the head of the “rider” lolling about haplessly as the creature kept pace. Its sickly wheezing preceded it and seemed to be the very wind itself.

Bounding over the short garden wall, the pair felt magic crackle around them as Ian’s barrier enveloped them. Despite this, he hurriedly fumbled with the door, pushing Clara inside before rushing in himself. He slammed the door shut and braced his back against it, as though the barrier would do no good at all.

“What **_was_** that?!” Clara wondered, breathing heavily. Ian peeked outside the kitchen window and saw their pursuer kick its front hooves, the sound of torrential wind in place of its braying.

“The nuckelavee,” he growled. He furrowed his brow as he watched the creature sulk off, delayed for the time being. “It is the embodiment of the evil that can come from the surrounding seas—if it were to run around unchecked during the warmer months, it would bring with it plague and poor harvests. Innes thinks she can control it, but that’s a farce.” He was breathing just as heavily as Clara, though his punctuated by calculating thought.

“Why can’t she control it?” she asked. “Innes is clearly powerful.”

“She is, but she’s still just a water spirit,” he explained. “The nuckelavee is Teran’s pet, and cats with rule over their human’s flat have better training than this being ever has. He’s released every winter until Mither comes, and she puts the nuckelavee in its place and drives Teran back during the fierce Spring storms.”

“ _Mither?_ ”

“Sjeh Mither, the Sea Mother, is Teran’s sister and worst enemy. She is a loving lass when she comes north to live amongst us, but sometimes battles her brother for weeks in order to send him away. Teran eventually leaves, while the nuckelavee is sealed away for the duration of Mither’s stay. I saw the chamber once when I was a pup—she takes the utmost precaution when it comes to its capture.”

“…but it’s getting close to summer and the storms have pretty much stopped,” Clara mentioned. “Does this mean that Innes broke the nuck-a-lava free?”

“Yes, it is,” Ian said gravely. “Only Mither has the firmness to be able to wholly control her brother’s pet. The creature is cooperating for now, but it’s only a matter of time before it rebels and Mither will come in her wrath and glory to return him to his cage.”

With the threat having retreated for the time being, it was now time for the selkie to turn his attention to what was before him. He saw Clara was now standing close to him, still recovering from the run with gasping breaths and a whole cacophony of smells and hormones wafting up and jumbling his senses. Ian just then noticed how quickly his heart was beating, sensing it was in-time with hers. A switch flipped in his brain and he gently brought her even closer. Her scent was the most intoxicating thing he had ever experienced, and the very moment she began to pull his head down towards her, he jammed his tongue into her mouth, kissing her with a dizzying vigor.

Clara moaned loudly in approval, fingers grasping his curls to keep his head firmly in place. Ian’s head spun as they kissed, and before he knew it, he was pressing her into the cupboards, having hoisted her up into his arms. Her body was warm and inviting and everything he’d been dreaming of since she called him on accident all that time ago now. He felt his hips move of their own accord, grinding between her legs, and he forced himself to break the kiss, burying his face in her shoulder in shame.

“…Ian…?”

“Clara… I’m sorry.” He tenderly kissed her neck and lowered her back to the floor, keeping his arms around her. “I can’t keep doing this to you without knowing it’s genuine or fae magic.”

“Well, you seem to be better with the hugging part,” she assured him, rubbing circles on his back.

“Never trust a hug—all it does is hide one’s face,” he said lowly. “Never trust a hug or the Fair Folk’s attempts at matchmaking; I can barely handle this _thing_ I’m hardwired to do…and yes, I know what that means. It feels like one of these days I won’t catch myself and I’ll go far enough to violate you.”

“I think I can hold my own against a seal,” she teased. Clara sat down on the linoleum, bringing Ian with her. He laid on the floor and put his head in her lap, letting her stroke his head and shoulders in an effort to ease his tense body. It was still difficult, since he was so close to her, but he made do with licking his lips instead.

Exhaling heavily, Clara broke the silence between them. “How long do you think we’ll be stuck here?”

“Not sure—a week, maybe? It depends on when Mither realizes the nuckelavee has gone missing. She doesn’t always check it, nor does she always stay in the same place for very long.”

“Of course; fae have a reputation to uphold, after all.”

As she continued to stroke Ian’s hair, the man curled up his body into a tight ball, there on the kitchen floor. This woman was incredibly understanding, and something told him that it wasn’t going to be the last time she was so with him.

* * *

…and they waited.

It took a couple days before Ian felt comfortable enough to allow Clara to go outside and into the garden again. She found it was a lucky thing that she had been slowly stocking up on extra food, as the nuckelavee’s presence on North Ronaldsay meant that winds were beginning to pick up and localize, making it so that the ferries had a difficult time getting through for the time of year and the stores being reluctant to send deliveries to the cottages away from Hollandstoun for more than an utmost emergency. It would mean she’d have to buy all her extra food again, but it was more than worth going hungry.

Ian, however, stayed decidedly inside the entire time. He avoided windows, muttered to himself constantly, and spent plenty of time shut in one of Clara’s spare rooms. He cleared what he didn’t need out into another, using the space to tinker and keep his mind busy while waiting out the nuckelavee’s patience for Innes’s plan. By the time Lorens came over again, he had taken apart a couple clocks, and old microwave, and even an old turntable record player, which was well on its way to becoming a self-changing device that would automatically reshuffle and play through Orson’s vinyl collection every ten hours.

“Why’s Mr. Morlo acting funny?” Lorens wondered. He was sitting with Clara at the kitchen table, going over a report that he had due later in the month.

“Mr. Morlo can’t go outside and look for signs of the Fair Folk for his research,” Clara lied. “With all the wind, he can’t take photos without risking something blowing in his face, and can’t write on paper without it blowing away.”

“ _I_ nearly blew away coming here, so _paper_ sounds scary,” the boy nodded. He thought for a moment as Clara typed notes into the document for him to look at later. “Doesn’t he have a computer or something? I thought everyone did—even Mrs. Sigurdsson at the resale shop has one, and she’s so ancient she can barely turn it on.”

“He knows what a computer is, and uses mine fine, but that doesn’t mean anything,” she replied. Once she was done marking, she turned the laptop back over to Lorens. “Speaking of Mr. Morlo, I’m going to check on him. You get a start on your corrections.”

“Yes, Miss Oswald.”

With that, Clara left the kitchen and quietly went up the stairs. She found Ian precisely where she left him: hunched over his abomination of a turntable. He barely tilted his head as he looked up at her, his eyes flitting about under his lashes to make sure it was her and not some imposter.

“Lorens didn’t leave yet, did he?” he asked quickly.

“No—he’s still in the kitchen.” She walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his middle, resting her head against his back. “You’re going to drive yourself insane; Fair Folk aren’t meant to be kept cooped up.”

“I’d rather be in this house until next Spring than be stomped to death by that creature,” he replied. Ian gently touched the hand resting on his stomach before going back to his work. “Innes is not going to get the better of us.”

“I hope so,” she agreed. After pressing a kiss to the back of his jumper, Clara let go and made her way for the door, only for the selkie to grab her hand, placing something in it.

“Walk Lorens home, but both of you have to wear one of these,” he said. She examined his gift, seeing that it was a pair of necklaces, each holding a stone emblazoned with a carved rune. “They have enough protective magic to keep you safe during the walks between houses. Don’t take it off, no matter what, and it should recharge once you’re over the property line.” He bent and kissed the crown of her head, forcing himself to let her move towards the door. “You think I’m being silly, don’t you?”

“It may be silly, but it’s out of legitimate fear,” she said, putting a charm around her neck and tucking it into her shirt. “I’ll tell Lorens his is something you’ve been trying to recreate with your research.”

“It’s to keep him from being detected by malicious eyes and ill intents,” Ian added. Clara nodded silently and closed the door behind her, knowing that things were not going to go well if they kept up like this.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really hoping that I can keep this pace up, especially since this is a story that people seem to love to bits.

Time moved slowly as Innes and the nuckelavee circled their prey. While Ian refused to walk further than the garden wall, the charms and wards he placed around Clara were strong enough to keep her safe on errands. She needed to be seen around the island or too many people would wonder and investigate why the English lass was staying in her house more than she usually did, and people paying visits meant more mortals for Ian to protect. He would do it for Clara, and he guessed for Lorens, but not for the average pudding-brained islander. It was too much a strain on his abilities for even the two that much more than that would risk him returning to the sea, where he wouldn’t become a seal again—as he explained to Clara as they sat cuddled together watching trashy telly—but seafoam, along with all the other ocean folk who tried to live a human life and failed.

“I reserve that sort of rubbish for air-headed mermaids falling in love at the drop of a hat,” he muttered sourly into her hair. The physical closeness helped with his urges, though he was still very much resisting the programming the High Council had put in him as though he was his old mate’s Amiga system. He held her close whenever he could, but how long that would be a balm was up for debate.

It had been days since Ian’s self-imposed house arrest and he was going stir-crazy. He could barely even tinker, resorting to furiously pacing all over the house. Worrying his hair until it stood on-end, the sitting room being the current victim of his frenzied waiting.

“You’re going to wear the rug thin; I like that rug,” Clara said idly from her spot on the couch. She flipped to a new page in her book, pretending to not notice his spiral into madness.

“I can’t help it, Clara—I _need_ to know what’s going on in Innes’s head, but every time I step outside, I can feel that damn creature’s presence and there’s no way I’m going against _that_ and living to see a new day.”

“Then sit down and try to relax,” she suggested. At that he dramatically flopped into an easychair, arranging and rearranging himself as he fidgeted uncomfortably.

“It’s not working.”

Clara snapped her book shut and placed it on the side table. “Get over here, you big baby, and lay down.” Ian did so, grumpily dangling his feet over the armrest and putting his head in her lap. “No, on your stomach.”

“Why my stomach?”

“Just trust me, yeah?”

He grumbled as he rolled over, speaking in a tongue Clara did not know, nor bothered to understand. Soon as she had access to them, she began to run her hands over his shoulders and upper back, massaging the tight muscles underneath three layers of clothing. He made indistinct noises as she did so, though none of them sounded disapproving.

“Ugh… hold on…” she muttered. Shifting him slightly, she wiggled out from underneath him and sat down next to his torso, using her newfound position to get a better hold. “Better?”

“I think, though I’m not sure what the point of this is,” he groused.

“Maybe if you didn’t have to wear so many clothes all the time you’d get the full effect.”

“I’m used to having _blubber_ , Clara. I’m _cold_ without it.”

“Can you take off the hoodie at least?”

“I can’t; I’d feel… _exposed_.” His eyes darted in the direction of the door, which had a window that was not blocked by drapes. It had recently been an exercise in how to let in light without making it impossible for Ian to wander around the house. Clara rolled her eyes and sighed—seal or fae or whatever he was, he was still a man who simply had to be _difficult_.

“Alright, follow me, upstairs,” she ordered. He did, although when she went into her bedroom, he stopped at the doorway. Ian watched as Clara closed the window and drew the drapes, the room becoming rather dim. She pulled him into the room and closed the door. “There… is this secure enough for you?”

“Yes, thank you,” he replied quietly. He felt his skin grow warm in blush as he took off his hoodie and draped it on a chair. “You don’t have to do this for me. I never asked.”

“You don’t need to ask,” she said plainly. Clara watched as he took off his jumper next, folding it carefully before putting that on the chair as well. He stood there awkwardly, refusing to go further at the t-shirt, not knowing what to do. “Well, sit down.”

Ian did, perching himself at the very edge of the mattress. Clara climbed up onto the bed behind him and began to massage his shoulders. He nearly melted at her touch, letting out a little moan as she continued.

“This feels _good_ ,” he exhaled happily. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like this before.”

“Most people only get a massage from their significant other, but sometimes they get one done professionally for a variety of reasons,” she explained. Clara continued, eliciting all sorts of interesting noises out of Ian as she pressed her thumbs into his shoulders and upper back. “I can easily imagine no one ever having touched you like this before.”

“You’re right.” His voice was quiet, nearly bashful. He shifted and looked over his shoulder at her, catching a glint in her eyes thanks to the wan light from outside. Leaning closer, he waited until she placed her hand against his, cradling his face gently. He took hold of her hand and kissed the knuckles, locking his gaze with hers.

The penny dropped with a loud crash as Ian and Clara began to kiss roughly, their hands grabbing in places not yet explored. Every nerve in the selkie’s body burst into flame at each touch of his mortal companion, pushing him over the edge. He edged himself away so that he could fumble at his belt.

“Take care of your clothes—I might rip them,” he requested. He had such a difficult time with his belt that by the time he had it undone, Clara’s leggings and knickers were already off and she was tugging at the zipper of her skirt. Ian went down on his knees at the sight of her, pulling her hips in and kissing her hard enough between her legs to draw out a gasp and have her yank urgently at his hair.

Once she shuddered he stood up and pulled his t-shirt over his head, wiping his face on the fabric before discarding it on the floor. He rinsed his mouth with the bottle of water Clara kept on the nightstand, spitting into the wastebasket, before stepping out of trousers and pants and, finally naked, climbed into the bed to join the mortal he’d been Bonded to, now that she was completely bare as well. Ian kissed her lips, neck, breasts, shoulders… anywhere he could as he propped himself above her, tenderly lavishing her with all the affection and single-minded attention he could muster.

They were laying in bed afterwards, the wind not attempting to knock out the window for once, lazily petting one another while still in a haze.

“You really must be one of the Fair Folk,” Clara chuckled, pressing a kiss into Ian’s hair. “That was the best first-time sex I’ve ever had—like you knew everything I wanted before it even happened.”

“That’s because I do know,” he replied. He rubbed his nose against her chest and exhaled contently. Finally, for the first time since he walked onto land, his entire body was at-ease. “When you Summoned me, I knew everything I had to do to please you… physically, at least.”

“…oh shit,” she hissed at the ceiling. “We didn’t use a condom and I’m not on birth-control. What… what if I get pregnant?! _Can_ I get pregnant?! Could I give birth to a seal?!”

“You would give birth to an average human child, though we’ll know if they inherit any fae mannerisms after a couple weeks,” he explained calmly. “I can’t smell any hormones that are commonplace after conception, so we’ll have to wait a little while to see.” He saw that she was crying, and wiped a tear from her cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“Is this it? Now you go and I may or may not have a child by this time next year?”

“That’s not how it works at all.” He shifted on the mattress to prop himself up and held her right hand in his, kissing it reverently. “I solemnly swear to be there for you and any pups we might have, now or in the future, no matter what the circumstances. Your will is my way until you release me from our Bond, whether that is tonight or with your final breath. I am yours, Clara Oswald.”

“Then if I’m going to be shagging a seal, I might as well go all-out,” she sighed in resignation. She eased his face down to hers and kissed him. “Do your job, my fae boyfriend; it’s not like we can screw up even more at this rate.”

“I’m not your boyfriend,” he teased.

“Oh? Then what are you?”

“I’ll accept hobby, maybe pastime.” He rolled over onto his back for her, settling his hands on her hips as she sank down onto him.

“I think you’ve earned a title a little more significant than that,” she noted. Clara glanced down at Ian, taking in all the admiration and devotion in his eyes, though noting how sad they still were. She leaned down and kissed the tip of his nose. “I don’t care what Innes wants: I’m never going to simply hand you over to her whether she bats her eyes or sends an unearthly abomination after us. You make me feel amazing, Ian. How can I give that up?” He silently strained his neck forward to kiss her brow, happy to hear the words.

“Then maybe ‘boyfriend’ _is_ an acceptable term,” he choked.


	11. Chapter 11

It was in the early hours of the morning, before the sky grew pale with the impending dawn. Ian gently untangled himself from Clara, the two having gone through an exhilarating night of excess together, and quietly went over to the window. He pulled back a drape and peered out, seeing that the island was still and hushed. Letting the drape fall back, the selkie made sure his mortal love was covered securely with a warm blanket before leaning down and leaving a kiss first between her breasts, then on her forehead, and finally her lips. Words escaped his mouth in a language he never before had uttered on land, muttering in what was the true language of the selkies. He fumbled over the words, not because it had been so long since he used them, but because it was a language most often heard mentally, in order to keep secrets secret.

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” he murmured. “ _I have been running away from Innes from a very long time, much longer than you can fathom, and I’m tired of running. If I don’t do this now, I never will_.” He kissed her hand and spoke in the common language fae used for their magic, sealing her with a protective spell. She smelled of him, of her, of magic, of mating, and it pained him to let go. Moving down to her midsection, he gently placed a hand over her stomach—he still couldn’t tell what would transpire from their night together, though he hoped that it was merely in-process. “ _Take care of her if I cannot, and I hope that if you do exist, that you are a mortal like her, for if I’m not there, I have no idea what could happen to a fae-mortal hybrid with unchecked power in this day and age_.”

Standing, Ian stole one final glance at Clara before heading out of the room. He dressed downstairs, taking time to choose his clothes carefully. Starting with the ridiculous pants covered in question marks Clara had bought him as a joke, he put on dark trousers, a white shirt, and his heavy boots. It was nearly no contest as to the jacket, pulling out the wine-red one that his mortal benefactor had adored so much. He felt the velvet under his fingers and smiled morosely—if only the feeling in his heart wasn’t so melancholy, he could nearly enjoy this.

Once he was dressed, Ian grit his teeth and steeled himself as he left the cottage and hopped over the garden wall. He marched himself down towards the beach, where he could feel the air was thick with tension. Sheep were utilizing the little niche in the wall, bleating pathetically as they sensed something terrible coming.

“So… done with your last shag before caving in?” Innes asked. Ian turned around and saw the water spirit was grinning manically at him. “I hope you brought your skin along, because that would make this so much easier—wouldn’t want to hurt you, after all.”

“I don’t have my skin, but that doesn’t mean I’m going down powerless,” he spat back. “I’ve got more up my sleeve than you think.”

“Oh, I don’t think, I _know_ ,” she purred. Innes approached her old associate and circled him, running her eyes up and down his body. “Now you look like someone worthy of his position.”

“What position? Your lackey?”

“No; one of the most powerful selkies in the history of the Fair Folk.” She began to strut away, overemphasizing her swaying hips. “If I simply wanted a selkie servant, any old seal would do, but you… you’re not only a habitual land-walker, but a magical scholar as well. You went outside the lines and for that, you are going to become the most valuable of my pets.”

“Don’t let the nuckelavee hear you say that,” he snorted derisively. “It could backfire on you.”

“Nuckie’s a good boy and knows his mummy loves him,” she replied sweetly. “Also: anything can tell that you’re beyond a mere selkie anymore. You could be a member of the Council… you could be my partner in all of this…”

“Don’t kid yourself; we’re not the same.”

“Oh, but we _are_.” Innes turned around, her brows now furrowed in not-quite contempt. “We are two beings that have gone beyond our normal limits, making our own rules beyond what our kinds have dictated.”

“…for _knowledge_ , not whatever it is you wish,” he stated. “Chaos? Destruction?”

“Reminding the mortals who it is they need to respect,” she clarified. Innes spread her arms wide and magic began to surge from her being, crackling and hissing in the air. The sheep behind Ian bleated in terror before scuttling off in an attempt to find a safer niche to take shelter in. The water spirit cackled madly, preparing to take on her newest servant not through talk, but by force.

Ian swallowed hard and braced himself. This was what he was running from, and this was how he would go down.

* * *

In the comfort of her bed, Clara stirred from her sleep feeling incredibly relaxed. Her legs were still tangled in soft sheets and a blanket had been drawn up over her. Feeling the bit of mattress that was next to her, she discovered that Ian was not there. She had first thought he might have rolled over in his sleep, but feeling how cold the rest of the bed was, that was clearly not the case.

‘ _If he’s taking apart the toaster, I’m going to smack him_ ,’ she thought. His insomnia was producing some infuriating side-effects as of late, and it went as far as her barring him from touching anything younger than her in the house, since if he touched it and it had mechanical parts, he was likely to take it apart. Grabbing her robe, she put it on as she shuffled over towards the window, opening it to see if the sun was beginning to rise yet.

Instead, what she saw made her heart skip a beat.

She had originally chosen her bedroom based on the fact she could open up the curtain and look out upon the ocean. Most mornings she was able to look out over a peaceful, serene beach, with sheep grazing on kelp that had washed up overnight and birds chirping their morning tunes. This morning, however, against the dark western horizon, she saw bursts of light as two figures battled it out on the beach. Light from magic and the rushing sound of water being used in spells did nothing but encourage her stomach nearly find her mouth as she became nauseous at the scene.

“Shit.”

Clara quickly dressed, trying to find as much as she could without turning on the lights. She glanced over at her alarm clock and cursed anyhow—the digital numbers were dark as her room. Normally she would grab her flashlight and head outside to her generator, but that was the furthest thing from her mind.

“I have to do something before they attract attention,” she hissed quietly. Foregoing her leggings, she put trousers on instead and ran through the house barefoot, heading towards where she left her trainers. She nearly had them on when a thought flit into her mind.

‘ _Innes wants Ian’s skin so she can control him_.’

It was a quick thought, but it made her turn on her heel and dash back up the stairs to her bedroom. She shoved her bed aside and moved a couple boxes that were residing under there, uncovering a loose floorboard that hid the hidey-hole containing the selkie’s skin. It seemed to shimmer in the moonlight filtering in from outside, pulsing in magic power. She gingerly picked it up, examining the smooth jacket-looking skin to make sure it was undamaged before rushing back through the house. If she hurried, she might be able to get there in time.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be the second-to-last chapter, with the final one coming within a few days.

Soon as Clara went into her garden she could tell something was not right. It was a nagging feeling at the back of her head, making her glance around quickly to assess the situation. She couldn’t hear the ever-present wind, even only a slight breeze, which made her eyes grow wide in terror. Climbing the ladder that gave her access to the beach, she went to go over the seawall, only to discover that there was a new barrier around her property… one that was keeping her in. She attempted to pound on it, only for there to be a flash of light and an invisible force tossing her back onto the grass.

“Clara?!” Ian gasped, noticing the magic out of the corner of his eye. He dodged a blast of water from Innes and ran over to the wall, scrambling up the ladder that was on the beach side. The sight of Clara laying unmoving in her garden enraged him, to the point he attempted to punch through the barrier with his bare fist.

“Not as simple as that, my dear,” Innes smirked. She held off her attacks to watch him beat at the invisible magic between him and his mate, that being much more entertaining than she had anticipated. “She’s merely stunned, you know—can’t have her interrupting our little tiff.”

“LET ME GO TO HER!” he demanded. Ian’s eyebrows were knit in unmitigated fury, his eyes nearly alight with fire, and his upper lip curled into an intimidating sneer.

“You wanted to keep her safe, so safe she shall stay,” his opponent claimed. As she watched the selkie take out his rage on the magic barrier, she quickly grew bored and just a smidge jealous. “Umm… Ian…? Did you forget what’s going on? I’m still here.”

“I didn’t forget,” he growled between punches. “All I need is a little time!”

A couple more punches and he did it, breaking through Innes’s magic that she had put around his protective ward, keeping Clara in as well as the fae out. Ian rushed over to the mortal and cradled her in his arms, silently hoping this was not it for her.

“Ian…?” Clara muttered softly.

“Good, you’re alive,” he breathed. “Get back in the house, where it’s safe. I don’t want you caught up in what’s not your fight.”

“What’s your fight is mine now as well,” she said, becoming more conscious by the second. “I’m a human, not an idiot.”

“I never realized there was a difference,” Innes chuckled. Ian and Clara both looked to see her standing on the garden wall, the former’s handiwork preventing her from coming any closer. “You really need to keep your wits about you, or something bad might happen.” She then hopped off the ladder, vanishing from sight.

“Please, don’t even argue,” Ian requested. He kissed Clara tenderly before running back to the beach and the battle.

“Oh, that _idiot_!” she huffed. Clara looked around frantically for Ian’s seal skin, finding that she had been laying on it. Picking it up, she slid one arm of it on, feeling the magic embedded in the jacket-like garment begin to pulse. It didn’t fuse with her, or do anything else that she imagined would ruin the opportunity showing it off would give, so she kept it on as she crept over towards the sea wall.

Still at it, Innes and Ian were going full-force again, completely ignoring her presence. Clara found that whatever spell had been used to keep her contained had been shattered, as she was able to get her hand, as well as her whole arm, over the wall. She watched intently, waiting for the right moment to play her hand. Knowing full-well she had the ultimate prize, playing it too early or too late could spell disaster for both her and Ian, let alone the whole island. It made her sick to hide there, watching and waiting, contemplating what could happen if things went wrong.

Then, suddenly, the moment struck. Ian lost his footing and fell into the wet sand, allowing Innes to gather a glob of ocean water and surround him with it. He laid there, choking and panicking, the last of his air beginning to leave him.

“Stop!” Clara shouted, making the final leap over the wall. She placed herself between Innes and Ian, holding the skin so that it remained hidden behind her back. “Leave us alone, or I’ll make this all for nothing!”

“Silly mortal,” Innes sighed. “What can you possibly do that can change my mind?”

“Put on this.”

Clara lifted her arm, showing that she was already wearing one arm of the jacket-skin. Innes dropped her arm that was keeping the water-spell in place and stared as the human checked to make sure the selkie was still alive. He was, sputtering out seawater with furious contempt, much to Clara’s delight.

“I thought I told you to get back into the house,” he said, trying his best to keep his voice down. “Now you’re here, in danger, and have my skin out in the open and—”

“You promised,” she interrupted. “You promised you would be there for me, and what kind of a person am I if I leave you alone to fight without your greatest asset?”

“Clara, my skin is not my greatest asset,” he deadpanned. She hit him on the back of the head before offering a hand to help him up.

“I meant _me_ , you silly seal,” she teased. They stood together, watching as Innes pondered her next move. Smugness spread across her face as she decided on what to do, turning towards the ocean and placing her hands around her mouth.

“Oh Nuckie,” she called out, “be a good dear and come help Mummy. There’s some tasty morsels in it if you do.” She turned back to the couple with her expression intolerably satisfied. “You’ve got exactly one minute before the nuckelavee answers my call. If I do not have the seal skin by then, you and the entire island will be subjected to his wrath. Though should you go and hand it over…”

In the distance, a softly-glowing bulge in the water’s horizon could be seen as a magical being rushed through the ocean. Clara and Ian grabbed one another’s hands, staying close.

“What’s the plan?” she asked quickly.

“Plan? I haven’t got a plan.”

“You had a plan when you came down here.”

“Yeah, and I didn’t anticipate you waking up, now did I?”

“Tick tock goes the clock,” Innes reminded them gleefully. “Are the two of you going to martyr yourselves and the entire island for love? I’m most surprised at you, Ian—we fae are supposed to be above such carnal desires.” She then saw that the mound of water was nearly upon them. “Oopsie; I talked away the rest of your time. Now what’s it going to be?”

The water finally reached the beach, ocean falling away in large splashes as the occupant stepped out. Instead of the nuckelavee, all gruesome and spite, it was a different figure: a beautiful woman eight feet tall, with hair of kelp and skin of grey. Her dark blue eyes were furious as she surveyed the trio on the beach. Ian held his right hand to his chest, palm facing the sky, and bowed deeply to the woman, with Clara quickly copying his actions. Innes, however, began to panic.

“Why, what a surprise to see you here, Sjeh Mither,” she blurted out. “I thought I heard you were visiting the Faroes…”

“For a time,” Mither replied, her voice as deep and resounding as the seas themselves. “You must be the one who let the nuckelavee roam free, despite it being nearly Summer. Do you realize what would have happened if he broke from the hairline hold you had?” Innes attempted to respond, though was cut off before getting out a syllable. “The Islands would have been done for; no one would survive and no one would want to live here again, mortal and fae alike. You nearly started the End of Ends, and for that you must be punished.”

Innes dropped to her knees, dumbstruck, as an orb of water surrounded her. Ian lifted his head, reverently speaking to Mither.

“What do you plan on doing?” he wondered.

“She shall be presented to the Courts for punishment. You, my dear selkie son, may continue your life as planned. Will it be with this mortal?”

“Yes, it shall. Clara is the mortal who summoned me, and we have genuine feelings for one another. There is no doubt that she is the one I have been waiting for all these years.”

“Then you have what few of us ever find,” she smiled gently. Sjeh Mither bent and kissed Ian on the forehead, as well as Clara, giving her blessing. “Do not fear, selkie son and mortal daughter, for you are under my protection.” She then left as elegantly as she came, retreating into the ocean in a grand display of sea spray and brine, taking Innes with her. By the time she had fully vanished, Ian and Clara noticed that dawn had broken over the land’s horizon, painting the sky in calm pastels.

“That… that’s it…?” Clara marveled. “You mean, Innes is gone?”

“Yes,” Ian replied, his mouth lopsided in a toothy grin. “Sjeh Mither not only took her, but gave us a rare gift. Few fae have been privy to her kiss, and fewer mortals at that.”

“She said we were protected,” she stated. “That’s good, yeah?”

“At least seven times more powerful than what I can manage,” he said. He saw as Clara held out her hand towards him and he took it, lacing his long fingers with her shorter ones. Ian then let go, picking her up into a sudden hug, spinning around laughing like a madman.

They were safe.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the last chapter. I might end up revisiting this at one point or another, but this is the end of the main story.

A week and a half later and small ferry made its way towards North Ronaldsay, with only one car strapped to the deck. The owners sat inside the boat, keeping out of the chilly winds, while their young daughter slept peacefully curled up against her father’s chest. She had been sleeping through much of the car ride, both that day and the day before. It technically could have taken only one long leg to make it from Bristol to the Orkneys, though it was safer to factor in the extra time for traffic and toddler-sized potty breaks than to run late because of them.

When the ferry was properly docked and secured, the small family went back inside their vehicle and drove off onto the island. The little girl was now wide awake, looking about frantically in an attempt to figure out where they were. It wasn’t home, and it wasn’t Gran’s, meaning that it was someplace _new_ , and that was _exciting_.

The car pulled up to a cozy little cottage just in time for a couple to walk out of it. They waited patiently as their visitors came out and unleashed the toddler, the girl bouncing up to them.

“Ahn Cwawa!” Lucy beamed, holding her arms up and out. Clara plucked her goddaughter up off the ground and hugged her happily. “Miss you, Ahn Cwawa!”

“And I missed you too, sweetie,” Clara replied. She then gave Rigsy and Jen each a hug before turning her attention back to Lucy, who was now staring at the man standing next to them curiously. “Lucy, I want you to say hello to your Uncle Ian—he lives with me, and is a good friend.”

“Fwend?”

“Yup.”

Lucy’s eyes went wide as she took in the sight of the new friend. He leaned down and grinned at her, though she grabbed his nose and squeezed it hard.

“Unca Ian!” she giggled. “Unca Ian pway!”

“As long as it’s alright by your mam and dad,” Ian said. Rigsy and Jen both silently nodded, giving the go-ahead. Ian took the toddler from Clara and placed her on his shoulders. Lucy squealed in delight and clutched Ian’s hair as he walked away, allowing the remainder of the adults to talk.

“Clara, is there something you’re not telling us?” Jen wondered, not taking her eyes off the man who was currently carrying her daughter. She saw them head underneath a tree and Lucy grasp at branches previously beyond her reach, one of which smacked Ian in the face.

“Does Ian mean you’ve been able to… well… move on?” Rigsy added warily. Clara nodded happily, knowing it wouldn’t be something they’d admonish her for.

“Ian and I were… a surprise,” she explained. “As it turned out, Danny sent me to the right place after all. I didn’t think so at first, but now… now it’s clear he was making sure I was going to be taken care of without even realizing it.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Jen asked. The two of them went inside the house while Rigsy began to unload the car. “You’re not the sort of person who needs to be in a relationship to feel secure—we never heard of him until last month, and now you’re living together? Isn’t this quick?”

“It _is_ quick, I won’t lie, but sometimes quick can be alright.” Clara busied herself with making tea while Jen sat at the table. “Faerie stories aren’t only found in children’s books, after all.”

“Wow… a whole new Clara Oswald, who knew?” Jen marveled. Her husband then came into the kitchen, brandishing a couple of large suitcases. “Nothing to worry about, babe; Clara’s fine.”

“So you didn’t shack up with the local nutter?”

“Oh, he’s a nutter alright, but a harmless one, and not a local,” Clara replied. “He works for the University of Glasgow as one of those paper-writing academic-types, and _he’s_ the one shacking up.” She placed tea on the table and went into the cupboard for the biscuit tin. “I get the feeling he’s going to be here for a long while yet.”

“That’s good—you deserve some happiness in your fresh start,” Rigsy said before hauling the suitcases towards the stairs. “Which room?”

“The one with the door open,” she called after him. Clara then sat down with Jen, pouring tea for the three of them. “Now tell me, was the trip alright?”

“Considering your goddaughter screamed for the loo every twenty minutes? It was _awful_ …”

* * *

The following morning, Lucy popped awake bright and early, ready to face the day with fun in mind. She jumped up in her travel cot and saw that Mummy and Daddy weren’t there—the bed was already made and the suitcases were laid out. They must have gone on that walk she remembered them talking about, so she climbed out of her cot and plopped her bottom on the floor. In an instant the toddler bounced back and went to Aunt Clara’s room, hoping that there would at least be someone there.

Sure enough, laying curled up together in the warm blankets, were Aunt Clara and Uncle Ian. Lucy liked Uncle Ian, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. With Aunt Clara out of reach, she went over to Uncle Ian’s side of the bed and tugged on his hand, which was hanging over the edge of the mattress just enough for her to reach.

“Ah, there you are Lucy,” he grinned sleepily. He lowered his arm and let the toddler cling to him, which allowed him to bring him up into the bed. At the movement, Aunt Clara let go of Uncle Ian and laid on her back, still fast asleep while her young guest babbled quietly.

“ _No_ , your name is _Lucy_ , not _Shadowblade Deathbringer_ , you silly thing,” Uncle Ian chuckled. She pouted dramatically, which caused him to stroke her fluff of hair in a fatherly manner. “Mam and Dad did not give you a terrible name. It’s actually rather nice, as far as names go.”

“Unca Ian?” Lucy wondered. “Ahn Cwawa sweeps?”

“Yes, and she’s going to be needing plenty of it,” he nodded. “Can I tell you a secret?” He held his pointer finger to his lips, with the tiny child imitating him in giggles. “I sensed them for the first time last night.”

Lucy cocked her head to the side in curiosity, making her honorary uncle laugh lowly.

“Your peedie wee cousin,” he explained. Uncle Ian propped his head up and smiled at the confused Lucy. “When an auntie and uncle love one another, sometimes they can give their niece a cousin. It’s a little more complicated than that, but it doesn’t change the fact that the moment I became your uncle was the moment you cousin started.”

Furrowing her brow, Lucy looked at Aunt Clara, to Uncle Ian, and back again. There was no cousin here; she was the only baby.

“There’s a long time to go yet before your cousin’s born,” Uncle Ian said. He placed his hand low on Aunt Clara’s midsection, making sure the toddler watched. “They are right here, in your auntie’s tummy, and they will grow bigger and bigger, until they don’t need Auntie Clara’s help to survive, and that’s when a pup knows it’s time to be born.” His heart leapt in his chest as Clara silently covered his hand with hers, letting him know she was awake.

“One night was all we needed, hmm?” she hummed, gazing up at him hazily. “I know that’s why you’ve been cuddly lately—you wanted to wait it out to know for sure.”

“Of course.” He took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles in adoration. “I told you I’d be there, didn’t I?”

“…and you almost weren’t. Do me a favor, please.”

“Anything,” he murmured back.

“Stop saying ‘pups’; it sounds so weird.”

“Seals have pups, Clara,” he insisted, bending down to kiss her neck. She squealed as his unshaved face tickled her, causing Lucy to shriek in laughter. “They pup their young in their rookery, to a cow and a bull, and…”

“Okay, okay, _fine_! You win!” she shouted. Lucy clapped excitedly as she bounced up and down on the bed—she was going to get a baby cousin. The adults calmed down and she hugged them both, because soon enough, there would be someone her size to play with, and that was something to look forward to in the future.

* * *

It didn’t take long for Clara’s father to make his way up to Orkney from Blackpool once he got the phone call. He was bewildered and frantic as he met his daughter at the ferry only a couple hours before the appointment he had arrived for. It wasn’t a fancy ceremony, just a simple booking at an open Mainland courthouse, yet that was where he met his new son-in-law and was given a fistful of weeds by the impromptu flower girl (and daughter of the other two witnesses), who felt it was her duty to provide everyone with said blooms. Clara said she was happy, and that was all the convincing her father needed.

That night however, with the Riggins family in their room and Dave Oswald on the sitting room couch, Ian did what should have been the unthinkable and helped his wife of a few hours fully put on his seal skin. It fit her like a jacket, contouring and melding with her skin in a swirl of green sparks. When it disappeared into her body, the selkie claimed that their marriage was now official in the eyes of mortal and fae law alike, and that not even Innes at her strongest could take him away from her.

The seasons changed, the nuckelavee roamed free around his winter range, and during a Spring storm caused by Sjeh Mither wrangling the beast, Terra Clarissa Morlo was born. Douglas Evan Morlo came three years later, on the last warm day before Autumn turned from cool to cold. They attended the local school, where their mother and father worked, as a teacher and caretaker respectively, and were completely normal, happy children. No one ever mentioned their father’s mysterious appearance one day mere weeks before their parents married, nor that their cousin in Bristol was not _really_ their cousin. The only time anyone ever remarked that they were even the slightest bit odd was when someone would catch them speaking to a tree, or a sheep, or swimming in the calm bays so fast that they put full-grown adults to shame.

That story is one for another time. What we can say about Ian the Selkie and his human love Clara, however, is that they did live happily ever after.


End file.
